Best Blanched Poems
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the drum
that echoed in my brain with excruciating pain.
She, his wife was of a complete different temperament
quietly without fuss she crafted blanched cotton flakes,
each a masterpiece, unique as if she retained every design
she had ever imagined so each time she could create anew.
He however with his bravado with his swelled chest
would pepper speeding glass-like pellets into the air.
Sting our faces without regret. Salt our wounds.
Mercilessly bite into our flesh with his frosted fangs.
Daintily she'd sprinkle the sky with the magic of her cheer
feather the atmosphere in a delicate splatter of alabaster.
Layer by layer she laid soft sheets of snow to the delight
of everyone alike creating a playground of endless mirth.
His breath reeked of dreams frozen, nipped in the bud.
Already he had high jacked his sisters, the Autumn twins
sent them packing, hurried, gathering their rustic garments.
He had no love of his siblings except his baby sister, Spring.
His wife loving and caring would temper his yearly onslaught.
She knew of his pain, deep, abandoned by his father Summer.
At times she'd blow slightly warmer air to provide respite for
us mere humans and allow the sun to warm our weary bones.
They would sit together and it was her would bring out
the albums of family photos view pictures of his mother.
Her smile like music would soothe his stone cold heart.
He loved, when she'd visit in the guise of an Indian Summer.
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath.
I felt her presence there to temper his harsh avail.
Winter had arrived but when they walked as one
this magnificent couple dressed in their royal winter whites,
without a second thought you would bow in front of their regal
stance, a sight to behold, one that encompassed the entire land.
04~01~2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons
Many ingredients bake writing inspiration.
This recipe combines a stirring sensation:
Heaps of desires never realized
as marinated in teary sore eyes;
Quantities of wide open spaces
caramelized by nature’s appeal;
Ageless genuine emotional traces
sifted thru heart rendered graces;
Equal parts family and romantic love
as roasted within, without and above;
Measured creamed ideals of peace
with blanched pain and battle grease;
Diced wishes braised with thrill
bearing aromas of tangy heat or chill;
Slices of awe from a glorious tree
breaded with traits strong and free;
I do not forget sour spices of greed
dusted with mankind’s violent seed;
A mix of fears dredged in anxiety
with stress jelled in complexity;
and, lastly, faith garnished spirit
grown in a soul conscious thicket.
If able, I mix love with ingredients above
before sampling my recipe once warmed up.
I enjoy serving it in a poetry cup.
*
On
This
A blessed
Winter Day
Dressed for the
Holidays. A pure blanched
Vision awaits me so I reflect out loud.
Satin white angel hair snow, sleeps light on our street,
enriches the raw pines in a virginal base coat of flurries.
Families dressed for the holidays, lovely, quite the treat.
There are voices singing, travel soft on a passing breeze.
My senses are ablaze on this blessed winter day.
Children's faces bright red from play rekindle memories.
Remembering crafting sculptures, the element, like clay.
Snow fights, where we'd take refuge behind shrubberies
Lights energized, dance with the dark as their partner.
Colors, tints the nights complexion in a luminesce glow.
Smoke from pillow covered roofs make my heart flutter.
My days of improvised ice rinks, skating with the flow.
A holiday surrounded night ignites passions deep.
Making snow angels, pulled on a toboggan down my avenue,
Picking a frosted pine then wrapped and thrown into our Jeep.
Heading home with that years tree to dress and decorate anew.
But it is now and time to play in this our new frosting of snow.
With my two baby girls we use it to bake as if it were dough.
Life is different now, as an adult with my children, I go slow.
Savor every moment, their youth a gift, repeats like an echo.
03~12~2014
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Winter Poems #1
They enter the strip
joint like the last
flurrie of flakes.
She hears the music,
hears the voice of the
D.J. Wind, enters on cue.
Her cold poles await her
as she moves to the beat.
One south, one north.
She works them both.
They call her Storm
she is the feature act.
Drawing her minions
in for months now.
Quickly the starkness of ivory
starts to melt off her body.
The long blanched gloves
covered those particular
patches are the first to go
revealing the fresh lustre of
bare skin once again exposed.
Sexy,
she's a professional!
She stares out
noticing the skeletal
frames once only
shadows,
now with a glimmer
of light.
She knows her time
is short now
feels a hint
of life in her
domain of
dead stares.
Hears sounds
that are telling.
Was that really a chirp
or just a whistle?
The pulse of warmth starts
to pump through her veins.
Now her shiny robe
falls to the ground and
you can sense the smell
of want in the air.
The flow of liquids
previously frozen stiff.
Storm the stripper
slowly teases the crowd.
Down to her Victoria Secret
garb she tugs at our groins
knowing her audience craves
more.
In this case that also
means less.
I personally will miss her
in this present form.
Her tidy white lingerie
against her tanned skin.
Covered peaks,
rounded mounds.
You just want to
ride up, and maneuver
your way down.
The timing is wrong.
I know she will strip bare
as first the top goes then
down to a G-String of snow.
Naked,
winter stands
in front of me.
She will meander a bit
shake with a breeze
of perfumed cold.
Slide onto the floor as she undulates
with her come ons that near a finality.
She saunters off the stage
and me I watch winter's end.
Spring, on winter's barren
ground starts to peek from
around the curtain,
with her touch of green.
Warm breezes.
Her array of pastel colors.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Winter has left the building,
Spring is here!
01~19~2015
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Winters End
The arrows at
The crossroads
Offered naught
But the truth of
All the answers
I had sought
They were blanched by hope’s long faded sun
The meaning of the words too long undone
choices that they said should never be made
start anew
walk alone
in shade,
separated
fearless
unafraid
I looked
Upon the
arrow’s->
rotting shaft
as I passed
I swear the
Ravens laughed
9/22/2021
CROSSROADS Poetry Contest
A walk upon dark, icy ground
sends shivers down to bony spine;
spared from the choke of death thus bound,
breath comes whence love and hate entwine.
The count, their lord, doth rise at dusk
to terrorize blanched countryside
His steely eyes slice trembling husk
for drop of life, his brides abide.
The stench of corpse wafts from dead night
like sweet perfume on lover’s nape.
Enchanted by his starless flight,
he beckons with dark-wings of cape.
Then, like the moth to burning flame,
her fervor climbs for fangs drawn near.
a scarlet kiss to seize with shame,
Greed’s appetite expels stored fear.
In harsh rays of the waking dawn,
She curses beast, her longing’s doom.
With conscience breaking charm and brawn,
She lifts wood stake above his tomb.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/12/15
for Giorgio's Sketch a Fictitious Character II Contest
*iambic tetrameter
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
Trust, like a pitiless whore-master, grins
as between the sheets and at my breasts, he suckles.
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
The manic moon shivers to shriek-like violins
as trusting seed is split and son-less my knees buckle
mother-less street urchin blanched, impatient, sin.
In sympathy the sun pales night's mood swings
seeking to caress and hold with a fractured chuckle
love's exhausted, and misspent, ripened lingerings
To the dying day and I, cry of might-have-beens
ivory white my ice hands, my bleeding knuckles
Trust like a pitiless whore-master grins
Though Cupid lauds' the joy, I feel only stings.
*Image of Patronus by Wizarding World
The White Doe and The River Of Life
Comes a white doe, quaint sight a wandering,
Murmurs, her head swerves about, hesitates,
A snow owl offering sky, pondering,
Nibble's green herbs with care then elevates,
Hooves paves a path, my blue being, surges clear,
Alert nose take air, head bent back, above,
Unaware, her head drops, tickles my sphere,
Cast her spot of me, blanched soul feel her shove,
Tempt, I tide my being, yet pursuit was keen,
The full breadth of her trots to my chilled beat,
She alights her weight to level her being,
Trots to shore, genteel flow, dares to repeat,
Perchance another day of challenging,
Comes a white doe, quaint sight a wandering.
2019 May 12
*1st Place*
ALL YOURS(JUN 8)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 June 08
Her crimson heart blanches,
broken, her soul aches
never to numb her loss.
When songbirds silently retreat
to tallest treetops, shaken
she lights her solitary restlessness.
On the windowsill, it flickers and flirts
with dusk's sifted air.
Constant burning, I could never imagine this
insatiable, impatient yearning -
for one candle to beacon to one more chance.
She falls, spills over, slumps
into ebony night -
she, steadfast, stifles sobs performing
like in a Shakespearean play,
pretending to want for rise of day.
And I wonder why
does her lone candle shine
for him? Who deserves her heart sworn
to love despite a deceptive guise -
no intent to return, only rumors of his lies?
And I wonder why
I feel a kinship with her shadows,
(not yet hopeless or ready to resign),
they swing, lilting light,
lifting prayers into angelic paths
beyond, and I wonder.
Her blanched heart,
broken soul aches,
and I, a passerby,
wonder why I bleed her loss
and still feel the warmth of her candle.
written 2/15/17
‘Twas close to the day when Buba Claus,
His red nose and Bowie knife shining,
Would be off to fill the manly's hearths,
With bacon for their frying.
The ground was bare of snow or ice,
The sky was clear of reindeer.
But Buba Claus was loading his sleigh,
Real high, with good stout Yule beer?
Buba Claus was out in force,
His NRA cronies in tow,
To fill naughty radicals stockings,
With tiny bits of coal.
Cigars dangled from their lips,
A spittoon he placed by their feet,
And, before the sleigh rose off the ground;
They tossed in another side of beef.
Each carnivore, they laughingly swore;
Would have their fill this year,
And Bambi blanched as He flew by,
While Teddy Bears ran in fear!
Over New Canaan His courses flew,
Past the homes of vegetarians;
And down their chimneys they did toss;
The views of Libertarians!
And when the last haunch was placed,
Upon the spits of the mighty,
His spat his cud of gnarly gum,
Into the spittoon real tidy!
Then he flew off with a Ho, Ho, Ho,
And, not the ones for plowing
Cause Buba Claus had his own ideas
Of all Santa’s sissy endowings!
Who was this white haired Claus
With rabbit teeth?
Carrying a ton of peanuts
For all to eat.
Dragged in a sleigh pulled
By Agnew and Nixon,
Who ran right beside
Donnar and Blitzen?
He circled Camp David,
A fast fly by;
With lox and bagels for
the Jewish guys.
A carpenters’ pencil
Was poised by his ear,
And boxes of nails dangled,
From the gear in the rear.
Why! Its Jolly Ole Carter Claus
Draped in menorahs.
Handing out home plans to
the Arab before us.
Visions of world peace
Danced in his head;
As, he flew straight to Afghanistan
‘Fore noggin hit bed.
When down from the sky
In the form of deer dung,
Fell fruit tree seeds
Too be sown in the sun.
And, as CarterClaus’ whip cracked
O’er Nixon's ear,
As Agnew blanched,
His eyes filling with tears.
Droplets hit sand with
A plop and a splatter
’Pon the fruit tree seeds with
Nary a clatter.
The desert grew green;
Trees sprouted and grew;
Hearts filled with wonder,
Bellies with stew.
Homes were rebuilt,
as before the fall,
Cook fires were lit.
Children grew tall.
And Ole Carter Claus
Flew home in a daze.
Passing out sandwiches
That Roslyn had made.
‘Twas close to the day when Buba Claus,
His red nose and Bowie knife shining,
Would be off to fill the manly's hearths,
With bacon for their frying.
The ground was bare of snow or ice,
The sky was clear of reindeer.
But Buba Claus was loading his sleigh,
Real high, with good stout Yule beer?
Buba Claus was out in force,
His NRA cronies in tow,
To fill naughty radicals stockings,
With tiny bits of coal.
Cigars dangled from their lips,
A spittoon he placed by their feet,
And, before the sleigh rose off the ground;
They tossed in another side of beef.
Each carnivore, they laughingly swore;
Would have their fill this year,
And Bambi blanched as He flew by,
While Teddy Bears ran in fear!
Over New Canaan His courses flew,
Past the homes of vegetarians;
And down their chimneys they did toss;
The views of Libertarians!
And when the last haunch was placed,
Upon the spits of the mighty,
His spat his cud of gnarly gum,
Into the spittoon real tidy!
Then he flew off with a Ho, Ho, Ho,
And, not the ones for plowing
Cause Buba Claus had his own ideas
Of all Santa's sissy endowings!
Oh that love could spread like hate,
like wildfire in a sun blanched field,
but love is patient.
Evil can force its way,
but love is kind.
Oh that love might shout its merits in the street,
but love is not proud.
Hatred seems triumphant for a season,
but love never fails.
Oh that love would fall
like rain on the thirsty ground
and gently heal this cursed world
of all her jagged, painful wounds.
Oh that Love would reign!
February 22, 2021
*1 Corinthians 13:4-8
A windswept meadow neath an ambling Apollo lone journey,
Witnessed the efforts of a crowd studded web of twinkling wished upon stars,
Lose its envious magic that they had cast upon the eyes of star-crossed lovers,
To an army of Cupid's charioteers who pulled its blanched Master Moon,
Whilst guided by the genteel gallops of endless Cherubs whom together,
Unleashed a hailstorm of heart seeking arrow tips that were dipped,
In honeyed filled molasses of numbingly sweet treasured quietude of,
Desirous lust that burst upon contact and release its alchemy concoction,
Affecting even the strongest of resistors into a fathomless mirth of ecstacy,
Swimming in divinational depths whose relentless currents unite the noumenon,
Beyond their measure for its extension enwraps the partnered heart to be as,
The eternal one, inseparable, until twilight trips into the arms of dawn,
For be it a day, until the fall of dusk the story perpetuates a new page it be,
Blank as before as a pen and a windswept meadow waits for lovers tryst.
Date: 06/06/2019